


Glass

by LuxLox



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 10:05:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxLox/pseuds/LuxLox
Summary: The Ritz, New York City, 1924Arthur, a wealthy businessman who has taken up his holiday time to create and sell illegal alcohol in New York, has a fling with Ritz window cleaner, Alfred.When they part ways under uncomfortable circumstances, Arthur goes looking for Alfred, but finds more than he had hoped for.





	Glass

_New York City, 1924_

The pudding shaped room of the Ritz first came alive with the sparkle of a swinging window, letting the night air rush inside in cold, fresh swoops. After that, the pearl-like clearness of a white kitchen -appearing behind an opening door- polished up the somber and love dusted walls, furniture, and great chandelier that hung from the cream centre of the ceiling. Then, after all this silent commotion, it sat still. It was waiting for something. For someone. The most important man in the world, or the English world if you were to categorise it. 

Then, in a tumble of penguin-suited men, white dressed girls, high heels and silver trays, a pathway of red carpet and eerie respect was built straight on and up into the open doors of the patient room. A bundle of black suit, top hat and silver cane walked in. The best man in the English world had arrived. And Arthur Kirkland was incredibly tired. 

“Sir?” Said a waitress, appearing beside him in a nervous flash of red and white. “Sir, should you like a menu? Only you are terribly early, we don’t normally open the restaurant till at least-“

“Do you know who I am?” He asked, nonchalantly, resting the polished cane against his hip and peeling off his white gloves as though retiring at home.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t caught your name yet, Sir.” She said, a breath of anticipation caught in her voice.

“Good.” He smiled. “I shouldn’t be needing any supper, by any means anyway, I want to go to my room.” 

“Oh,” she laughed, and then covered her mouth with a tense hand. “Oh, well that’s alright then, Sir. I’ll take you up in the elevator. Could I have your floor number?”

He waved a glove at her, peering up and around at the decorative artworks. “I don’t know it. All I know is the room number.”

“Oh well, could I have that?”

“What if I were to say no?”

She frowned, and then smiled crudely, baring a set of soap-bar teeth. “We get a lot of jokesters like you in sir, don’t think I haven’t heard it all before. You’re all the same. Looking for laughs from a pretty girl.” 

“Oh,” he raised a courteous eyebrow, pulling out a card with a number on from inside his waistcoat and offering it to her nonchalantly, as though to poke her subtly onwards. “I can assure you, I’m different from those types.”

“Mhm. That’s what they all say.” She began forward, Arthur needing no beckoning and following hbehind her quickly, an aching fatigue setting into his knees. “Then they’re with two girls on one night, and then two different girls and two broken hearts the next night. Mhm. I know your type down to the tee.” She twisted her head, smiling at him, Arthur couldn’t tell how momentary it was. “I should say I know you better than you know yourself, Sir.”

“If only, my dear.”

His cane tapped onto the marble panels of the lift, and then -after a short and silent elevation- onto the softer woolen carpets of the first floor. She led him down a narrow hallway, moon shaped lamps like yellow, staccato notes between a green ceiling and blood orange walls. With each step the hallway seemed to grow longer and more tumultuous, oak doors appearing with the gleaming ping of the silver numbers in the darkness, flower vases with ornamental twigs and bells sticking up like hard, gothic shadows, and finally -Arthur’s favourite part of this New York rise- the little picture frames that dotted along between the lamps like black and white clippings. The actual pictures and paintings inside where unimportant to him, monotone and uncoloured things, it was the glass on top, wiped smooth and clear with a rough hand that always took his attention. He saw his reflection in them, or rather a black shadow of himself. And then it was gone, and they had reached the door.

The wooden slab proudly stated itself as “1B” in shining silver and nothing more. The girl moved swiftly in front of it, knocking, listening and then standing back and offering a uniform-pressed smile towards Arthur. 

“Your key, Sir?”

He offered it over swiftly, with an echo of “Your name, madam?”

She laughed, glancing his way knowingly without knowing anything, clicking the key into the keyhole.

“Madeleine.” She answered, sweetly.

“That’s a nice, English name.”

“My mother was English.” 

“Oh. Your father was American then, I take it?”

“Mhm. Aren’t they all.” Arthur wasn’t sure what she meant by this, he wanted to ask, but she carried on with an uncaring swiftness to her voice, leaving the mystery hanging in the air bitterly. “I’m neither of those things, though. At least I don’t consider myself to be. I was born in Canada, you see. Brought over here when I was only young - and the city was only young too, mind you - but I still… feel Canadian. Inside. I suppose you feel things like that too.”

The door clicked open with an approving rumble, as though answering her, and Arthur offered her a half raised smile as he took his keys back and headed into it. He kept it tightly shut against his body, suddenly wanting a mystery of his own and not allowing her to look inside. Not that he didn’t realise she would have seen it hundreds of times before. Probably in worse states of illegal matter than he had left it. Probably.

“Oh, and your name too, Sir? If I’m not being impertinent?”

“Kirkland.” He answered. And then slipped in before she could react, but not before her mouth had time to drop.

Once inside, he felt something warm and large press against him in the dark, at first thinking it was a wall, he tried to skim against it to reach a corner. However, As soon as he began his feat, arms like belts reached around his chest, holding him gently and tightly. There was only a second of dark panic, before he remembered the hands exactly, the memory of picture framed black and white glass glowing at him.

“Alfred?”

“Who else?” The thing said, in an out-of-place and high pitched sort of way, that rather made the looming darkness and large arms feel comedically pubescent.

“Someone wanting to kill me. An enemy of mine. A businessman I ruined. Many others would like to catch me unexpected in the dark. Many, many others, and I bet-“

“Yeah. Yeah I get it, you’re an evil guy with a lot of money that a lot of powerful people hate. What’s new?”

“Why are the lights off?” Arthur asked stiffly, ignoring him. 

“Couldn’t find the light switch. ‘Cos the lights are off, so I couldn’t see nothin’k.” 

“It’s right here. Look. Hold on, stop squeezing me breathless for a second.” The lights clicked on, bright yellow for a blinding moment, and then buzzing off into a soft white. The lamps glowed pink at the corners of the room, like checkpoints for the red wine bottles that sat gem-like underneath them

“Awr-r-r-r-gh. Turn ‘em off again. Turn ‘em off. I liked it better when it was off, too bright.” 

Arthur turned himself around in Alfreds arms, as though unwinding himself till he stood chest to warm chest. He reached a gloveless hand up, putting it around Alfreds neck, then mumbled something on par to ‘close them again, then.” And pushed the hand down against the boys shirt collar till lips were against his. The kiss was short and tired and lust-filled, and when they parted it was wide and sudden and sure. Alfred walked himself away, disappearing backwards into the luxurious silk blankets and fringed cushions of the French bed. He appeared again, like rising out of a coffin, when Arthur took a seat next to him, a bottle of rosé wine like a glass shard in his hand.

“How was your day?” Alfred asked, in a drawled way that suggested he was only looking for conversation.

“Fine enough. Very fine, in fact. I met the Prince of Wales.”

Alfred’s mouth dropped. “You didn’t!”

“That’s what they call him, anyway. He’s not the actual Prince of Wales. He’s a… a comedian. I think. I didn’t find him very funny. Too… too actor-like.”

Alfred guffawed, the stretched features of surprise all but vanished from his face. “No, well, you don’t find anything funny.”

“I do. Remember… remember when you fell from that window last week? I had a laugh at that. It gave me a chuckle.”

“So it only takes for my back to be broken for your sense of humour to get tickled, huh baby?” 

Arthur popped the wine cork out with his teeth, the pain like a familiar and anticipating sting. “A man has his needs.”

Alfred rolled over, pushing off dangerously towards the edge of the bed and reaching out a quick hand, taking the wine bottle with a firm grasp by its neck and pulling it away from Arthur’s lips, appearing behind it like a pink reflection. “Yeah. But you only care about your own.”

“Why, should I not?” Arthur tried to free the bottle in vain.

“‘Well, sure, but I have ‘em. I climb in that wind’a every night for ‘em. My needs.”

“You climb in a first floor window of the Ritz to fuck an englishman you met two weeks ago. Doesn’t sound so warm when I say it like that, does it? Now let me have a drink.”

“No.” He said quickly, and then with a smile and a purr somewhere in his voice. “No… come on, Arthur, you’re tired? Aren’t ya? Let’s get to bed now, while you still can. Huh?” Hands were now gripping Arthurs lapels, almost choking him with the eager stiffness of it. Alfred was close to him now, and also close to falling off the bed, his upper body leaning dangerously down and over.

“You know I like to drink before we do that.” Arthur replied, not avoiding the harsh imbalance of the words.

“You can leave it for one night, cant you? It wouldn’t kill ya. Just to think of me first?”

“I don’t even know your surname, I don’t have to put you first. You’re the one spying over me like a… like a spy.”

“Well then, get to know me better. Come to bed.”

Arthur looked away, swapping the bottle between hands safely and bringing it to his lips.

“I know you very well in that respect already. Anyway,” he took a cold, lurid sip, watching Alfred with a cold glance “Anyhow, I’m tired. If you hadn’t weaseled your way in through the window, I don’t think I would have even invited you in.”

Alfred shrugged heavily, using his shoulder to heave away the doloured dispirit that had wrapped up his insides. Arthur could be mean. 

“Well, fact is I’m here now, baby. And who said we have to do anything? Could just talk, for a bit. Get to know eachother better. All you know about me is that I’m a *cake-eater and a wind’a cleaner. And all I know about you is that you’re a… a rich ol’ limey *egg. Bit of a boozer, too.”

Arthur hesitated. “You have a way with words.” 

Alfred smiled “I have a way with you. And I could see that you was about ready to jump on me right there. And put that bottle down while you’re at it. Musta been when I called you rich. Or a limey. Or maybe an egg” He laughed, and disappeared back into the mess of cushions and duvets, leaving only an outstretched hand that beckoned Arthur closer without words. Arthur, after a moment of aching thought, plugged the cork back into the wine bottle with a _phwip_ -ing noise and took Alfred's hand, using it to roll himself heavily onto the bed. He was again as he had found himself upon entrance, wound up in arms and chests and darkness. Alfred’s lips against his forehead, and hand in his hair. When he spoke, it tickled in a pleasant and inner sort of way.

“I’m glad I met you.” Alfred said, on a whim, so the words held no levels more then they at all appeared to. Though, not lifeless.

“I don’t hear that a lot.”

“I am. I’m glad I fell in ya wind’a. I’m glad you almost got me fired, so I had to come up here and speak to you. Gotta sat it, gotta say, I’m glad for things I wouldn’t have been glad for before.” 

“Well, I’m leaving in a week either way.” Arthur said, dismissively. He opened his eyes to peak, but could see nothing but the waist-coated shoulder he was currently rested on. There was a smudge of red paint just in front of his eyes, and something glinting blue just above that.

“I knew that.”

“You did? How?”

“Uhm… the presence of an important man is like a catalyst for gossip, ‘tween the workers. Like how… like how I know what ship your going back on. The *

Mauritania, ain’t it? That face means yes, right? Mhm, I know that, and I know that you’ll be first class. But I could have guessed that, I s’pose. I also know you’re planning on taking all this drink with you. I don’t know how that’s going to go down. But it’ll be fun to see. Awh… now don’t, don’t look at me like that, baby.” 

“I can’t tell if it’s you, or me.” Arthur responded uneasily and at length. 

“What is?”

“The one that makes this all seem so… fake.” He sat up, and looked down at Alfred. Watching as his carefree smile pulled into something four-sided and thoughtful. He shuffled his arm out from behind his head and breathed out sharply as though to speak, but Arthur continued. 

“It’s like we’re in a play. As though none of this is actually real. Not what it seems, at least. It doesn’t feel like it is what it seems, anyway. Everything we say to each other, I… I don’t want to say it sounds perfect, it’s far from perfect, but it always seems so well planned. So… well, it’s out of reach for me, isn’t it, really? Out of reach. A far stretch. It’s only been two weeks, but everything’s too… alright. And that makes it feel not alright.”

“What’re you clattering on about, Arthur?”

“I can’t trust you, is what it comes down to. I don’t think I can.”

Alfred shuffled uncomfortably at this.

“You can trust me. I just clean glass for my do’s. What’s there not to trust?”

“That exactly. That. There’s not… you’re not… there’s something missing with you, there is. There’s things you’re not telling me. Immense things. Things that would affect me. I can tell. With you, I can tell. But I can’t, all the same.” 

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“How would I know? You’re the one that knows. That’s the point.”

“Arthur, I swear to ya. There ain’t nothing else to me. I’m as plain as they come. I swear to ya, baby.” He beat once on his chest with a closed fist, as though proving he was as empty as a glass.

“Perhaps you’re going to kill me.” Arthur suggested.

“Awh, calm down, will ya? Hold your horses. I’m not going to kill you, Arthur. Fuck.”

“How do I know that? Someone could have sent you. You could be… poison personified.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that. Never ‘poison-fucking-personified’. Fuck. I’m not going to fucking kill you. Okay? Alright? I won’t do that.”

“Or perhaps… my money? You want that. That would make sense.”

“Aint no man in this world that don’t want your money, Arthur. But I can tell you I ain’t after it like you’re thinking.”

“You’ll murder me and then steal from me. How… Write a fake will? I’m not sure if that would work. What do you think? Maybe blackmail me. Say I buggered you, have them throw me in prison and then get compensation from my bank.”

“Wow. Arthur, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to steal from you, won’t blackmail you neither. I’m not even going to clean your windows for the next week ‘cause they’re all done. I’m done with things like that, Arthur, I come back for you, Alright? For you. And if you want to get a bit common,” he pushed himself up, brushing ornamental cushions off of himself like bits of dust, edging himself carefully forward. He placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, tensely, as though testing a shallow pond. Once nothing exploded, he learnt in and kissed his cheek. Then his neck. Interrupted it with a whispered “I come back for this.” And then carried on. 

“Oh dear.” Arthur said brokenly, bringing a hand to his brow and pressing down hard. “Oh… dear. I am sorry. I can’t help it sometimes. I really can’t.”

Alfred’s breath was hot under his shirt collar. “That’s alright. Why don’t you lean back so I can do this properly.”

“That’s why I need the wine. See, I did...I did say that. Otherwise I get like this. Worried.” 

“That’s alright. Just relax now. Lay back. I’ll help you.”

“You’ll help me. Yes. You always have. I have no reason not to trust you. Im uh… sorry.”

“Mhm. That’s alright. I’ll help you. You just lay back, Mhm, exactly like that. Get comfortable. Now I’ll get on top of you like I always… uh-huh. Lift your chin up, so I can get to your neck and…” 

******

The suite, for all its vast space and corners and rooms, felt very small when just sat inside. Especially when the black of the night was like wall paper against the window, and one could do nothing but watch an echo of reflections and lights and shadows move past below, cab lights grazing up and painting hotel walls in yellows and reds and prism-like shapes. One can watch and wonder, and sleepily put patterns to patterns, but the organ-like hum of the city carrying on beneath one makes a large, empty room feel very small indeed. 

Arthur dropped a stubbed out cigarette into an empty champagne bottle below his bed. Alfred had gone now. Leaving only the smell of burnt wood and something clean behind, a something that was so sharp and clear that it gave Arthur a stinging clarity to his thoughts. He knew he was acting strange earlier, he knew it must have frightened Alfred. The boy was only young, he said he was in his late twenties like Arthur, but he couldn’t see him being any more than twenty-two. Not with how he went about everything with such fresh and wide-eyed wonder. He was wise, though. He knew a lot of everything and a lot of nothing. A thing Arthur couldn’t quite grasp (knowing wing-bits of information and nothing more) but had admired in the boy. He had definitely taught him a thing or too on politics, religion, social class etcetera, all the relative things an underdog like him would make a fuss enough about to know. And in turn, Arthur told him about a world he could only every dream of, one only a ruthless businessman like Arthur would care enough to know about. They were completely different, and yet brought together by what made those differences into similarities. Secrets.

“I’ve frightened him off. You’ve gone and done it now.” Arthur said, aloud and to himself. “This is why you can’t be happy. Isn’t it? Because you just won’t let yourself be. ‘Less that happiness can be made with a…” He reached over, till his hand came into contact with something wet and cold, and he picked it up, holding it in front of him like a stage prop. “With a drink.” 

He uncorked it with his teeth, the way he always did, and drunk it emptily. It didn’t fill the hole like it usually would.

But he needed it, the bloody drink. Needed it, or life wouldn’t seem like life as much as it would seem like an existence.

England was where he had caught the habit, being alone and rich and posthumously tired of all other pleasantries in life - drink, theatre and prostitutes were the last variations he had left; Though theatre turned out to be too rare, repetitive and thoroughly damning for a headache, and prostitutes required far too much effort and risk than really due their worth. At least the kind he liked. That is why he came over to America as often as he did, to enjoy the same things he always had -Alcohol- but with the added thrill of it now being illegal. Well, that, and the fact that he had business in America. He always had business in America. Of the leisurely and economic kind. Though he had never quite enjoyed it as much as he had this time round.

That could be the champagne. Chapagne’s always better when it’s the real thing. But he could never tell here nor there. Or perhaps the suite, he’d treated himself these weeks, the best room the Ritz had to offer, with the best facilities, the most beautiful paintings and the largest windows for the best view of a buzzing New York City. But he was never in his room much anyway. No. No, not much had really changed. Unless you were to count Alfred. Him turning up had been like walking through a locked door for Arthur; It wasn’t that he wasn’t a prostitute, it wasn’t that Arthur hadn’t paid him the weeks previous, it wasn’t that he was any prettier than any other boy Arthur had had before (though he certainly exhibited a workman’s glow.) and it certainly wasn’t that he was any more interesting than anyone else Arthur knew, the boy hardly knew a word longer than seven letters. So, Arthur couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something; Something in the way he stood, something in the gravity of his hair, something in the blue of his eyes, his arms, his legs, the relax of his torso and the warm of his voice. Just, something. And Arthur felt he was missing it already.

Had it ended sourly? He wasn’t sure. He had become blind to the difference between sweet and sour, the tastelessness of the business world would be to thank for that. But he couldn’t help to recognise the familiar and far off memory of longing and guilt beginning to churn ruthlessly inside of him. His mind had all but lost the ability to translate the feeling, but it felt horrible. It felt energised. He knew that. And he also knew that the spur it gave him shouldn’t be wasted. 

Standing up, he emptied another mouthful of wine from the bottle and then chucked it somewhere far off behind the open door of the bathroom. It shattered loudly, giving him the cue to leave and search for Alfred. 

****

Arthur threw himself vigorously into the movement and glitter of post-party New York. Escaping down and out into the best of the city as fast as he could, feeling a growing need for that familiarity which he had taken for granted. The night was dark now, and the life of the place stood out like a bright light. It’s very pulse seemed to tremble along by him: girls with short hair cut close to their chin, powdered cheek roses and new mouths drawn on, smiling almost to the end of each similarly sketched out eyebrow. Beside them -and clinging to them obsessively- were the men, with hats shorter than Arthur’s, and suits with stripes and buttons and unnecessary leather decoration, shining off of brown and black co-respondent styled shoes. It was the spark and the glamour of a thriving America that Arthur would usually revel in, but found he had absolutely no time now. No time at all. He had to find Alfred. 

It was only ten minutes in when he realised he knew absolutely nothing about the boy, other than what was slice of his life he spent working at the Ritz. He had no idea where he might be or what he might be doing, unless he was cleaning windows. He felt lost, especially since he had started to leave the light of New York City, and instead wander off into what looked like back-alleys and streets, with barely a candle between them. He was about to turn back and give up, feeling awfully silly and dim witted, till he spotted it. Like gems still, even peeping out from under the shadow of what was probably a market tent. His wine. 

Curious, and having nothing to lose but time and sleep he didn’t want, he stepped over to it slowly, wary of each black corner he passed, unnerved by the thought of something diseased and rabid and armed jumping out at him. It was chillingly quiet now, as though intentionally silent. He felt alone, though he knew he was not. New York was never empty, and something was definitely inside that tent. A bear-like shadow pushed against its taught side, each time knocking the wine further into its black shadows. He was so close he could read the little ‘K’ burnt onto the cork lid. So close, he could see trouser legs inside the tent, so close- a hand was slapped onto his shoulder. He shot away. Manically frightened.

“Fuck. Arthur? What? Why are you all the way out here?”

“Alfred! Alfred.” He exclaimed, unexpected excitement clipping his tongue. He wanted to say “you frightened me. I came out to look for you. I’m so sorry for the way I acted. That’s not me. Will you forgive me? I would miss you if you didn’t.” Something alike and offhand to that. Instead he gasped, and said the boys name again.

“Yes! Yes, it’s me! What’s with you? How are you here? It’s awful dangerous out here. You shouldn’t be out here. Why are you out here?”

“Why- why, I’m so glad I found you! I’ve been looking around for a terribly long time. Could be… could be half an hour by now, I think. Could be. I forgot my wrist watch, you’ll forgive, I rather came out on a spur,” he paused, overcome by breathlessness. “Oh! Oh, but I am so glad to see you. I should… well apologise. I should like to do that.”

“For what?”

“I upset you.”

“Nothing worse than I’ve had before. You shouldn’t worry. We should come away from here, though.”

“But I should want to say sorry, regardless.” Arthur ignored him. “I wouldn’t want you to think ill of me. I behaved disgustingly, I really did. And truth be told, you were the last person that deserved it.”

“Come away with me and we can talk about this in the street.”

“-and I would feel awful if you were to be scared off by me. That would depress me thoroughly. You have been a good friend, I can admire that. And so I just had to find you. I’m generally rather good at finding things. That comes with the business, I have to know my way around, or they wouldn’t respect me. But you… I was about to give up on you. Not give up on you as in the common sense of it, only I mean… well anyway, I—“

“I appreciate it, Arthur, listen, I do. But can we do this just a little ways down there? By that doorway there? Please?”

“—But then I saw those wine bottles and… and…” 

A man with a face like a wicker picnic basket shouldered his way out of the tent, two aforementioned wine bottles clutched in his fists. He gave Arthur an up-and-down sort of look with two dark and startled eyes, and then he seemed not to care about the new arrival at all, instead jolting himself towards Alfred, grabbing his attention. Though Alfred seemed not all there, as though his mind and body were separated in a panic.

“Any more of these, Al?”

“Huh?”

“Wake up, kiddo. I said, any more of these you got there? Getting a demand for ‘em. The more the better. And since only _you_ seem to be able to get ‘em, I gotta ask you to supply ‘em. Huh, kiddo?” 

“I got no more.”

“That the truth, huh? I thought you had an endless supply. I got the money here to hand, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well, I ain’t got no more Jim, so you might as well stop asking me if I fucking do.” 

“Take a breath. Just askin’. Have to ask.” There was a pause, unreadable. Then the man, Jim, spoke again, his scratchy voice with a texture like dripping glass. “Who’s your pal? He look’s a bit upstage for here.”

“Ain’t no one. Keep to y’own business, Alright Jim?” He shoved Arthur forward with a hand like punctuation. “Come over with me.” 

But Arthur, with wine on his mind and brewing in his gut, pushed Alfred back with a whipping rage. Alfred hopped away, mostly from unsteady surprise, and then leapt forward with his arms tensed and outstretched, pushing Arthur down with all the force he had. They landed hard on the floor, grunts grounding their fall. Then they were half way up again, Arthur rolling away in a sharp movement, only to be brought down straight after, Alfred pinning his shoulders to the ground. His hands were hard, like straps, but they had no intention of punching. Arthur didn’t care, wriggling a hand out from under Alfreds knee and throwing one of his own. It hit Alfred square in the jaw, and sent him toppling over, giving Arthur just enough time to spin up, sending his leg into the others chest, winding him. Arthur heaved in air as he spoke.

“You were fucking using me!”

Alfred wiped away a bubble of blood that had welled up from his lip. “You ain’t even got the whole story!”

“No. But you seem to have all my fucking wine.”

Alfred didn’t say anything, instead using his arm to lever himself up into a sitting position.

“What the fuck do you have to say then?” Arthur yelled, the breath back in him, topped up with adrenaline. “Go on. Go on and say it. That you were using me.”

“...I never did say I wasn’t.”

“I’ll ruin you.”

“Oh. Oh do it then! Do it! Try and find something to ruin!” A pause. “Ain’t nothing ‘bout me worth ruining. I’m selling myself to rich old cunts to get alcohol that I can make green on in the black-fuckin’-market. So try and find something about me to ruin that ain’t already ruined, by selfish, pathetic, whiny fellas like you.” Another pause. Alfred spat out blood. Stood up, keeping his distance. 

“You cryin’? You fuckin’ dora, you cryin’ now? ‘Bout me? I ain’t given you nothin’ to cry about yet.”

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been stealing from me.”

“Oh.” He laughed, syllabolic. “Oh, day one. Since day one I been stealing from ya. Why ya think I approached you like I did? Think I found you attractive? Charming? Good looking? Saw something in you that I didn’t see in all those other rich fellas. Huh?” His voice was mocking, harsh and half-baked, like boiled sandpaper. “That’s a fucking good one. You got a good imagination there. You really thought that? They all think that, but it’s a stretch with you, Arthur, it really is. No. It’s ‘cause my boys - you know, the ones that told you they loved you, said they wanted to come back to England with you but only ‘would you give them a little something to get by for the week?’ and then left ya cold with no green? - ahuh. They told me you’re one so rich that you just leave money lying around. Wallet out on the night stand while you fuck us. Yes. Yes you remember that now, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re realising things now. Bet you feel a fool, now. I hope you do.”

“But you weren’t like that.”

“Stop it Arthur. You sound pathetic.”

“No. No you weren’t fucking like that. You were different.”

Alfred looked away with just his neck, turning it sharply. The man from the tent was the receiver of his gaze, and soon pushed back inside, leaving Alfred and Arthur completely alone. He turned just as sharply back, his lips sutchered in so they were merely a bleeding crack in his face.

“I should go into theatre, I should. I’m a fucking talented actor, apparently. You really thought I gave a shit about you? You noticed your money and your wine going missing? -you’re not nodding, but I know you did- and you really think I gave a shit about you? Arthur. Oh, Arthur. This is New York City. No one gives a shit about anyone. Not if you give a shit about yourself.” 

Arthur, shoving his hand into a rip inside his blazer like a pocket, stepped forward. Then he pulled out a pistol.

“Woah. Woah slow down.” Alfred almost stumbled back, looking behind him, then shivering and turning back. Eyes flashing black and white. “What you gonna do with that there?”

“I was going to shoot you.”

“Shoot me?”

“Just about to.”

“You’re not going to shoot me.”

“I was.”

“Aw… fuck. Are you?”

“I was. But I’m not sure, now.”

“Please. Please don’t fucking shoot me. Arthur, please.”

“I think… I think you might be right.” 

“Please. Please don’t use it. Please don’t shoot me. People would hear you. Please. Fuck. There’s people right there. Right there in that tent. Please. I don’t… don’t do that to me. I don’t want to die. I didn’t mean-“

“Be quiet. Just be quiet. For goodness sake. Be quiet.”

“I’m quiet. Quiet. I’m done. Sorry.” And there was not a breath, nothing. The seconds seemed to suffocate any movement, any sound, any life. Arthur watched the pistol in his hand, reading it like a sentence. Hand shaking, arm tight against himself. Then he dropped it. Threw it straight out, let it lunge towards Alfred like it was it’s own dark being. When it was at Alfreds feet, he nodded and loosened up as though pleased with himself. 

“I’m not going to shoot you, Alfred. Of course I’m not going to shoot you. I came here… I came here to tell you that I thought I loved you. Knowing that, it’d be ugly to shoot you. Wouldn’t it?” He laughed. “But…

But knowing… finding out that you do not feel similarly...of course you wouldn’t… knowing that, then you might as well shoot me. And do it with my own bullets.” 

“Aw fuck.”

“I’m going to… I think I’m going to go now. You have the gun.” And he did as he said he would, his eyes maintaining their empty, crystal look till Alfred could no longer see them. He walked away, back down a narrow alleyway, his ripped suit making his shadow look almost like the grim reaper himself. 

It was silent.

****

“Fucking lala. Looney. Absolut-er-ly.”

“I wish you’d just tell me who, Alfred”

“Well, I ain’t like that.”

“I just want to know.”

“It’s… well it’s the least I can do. Or cannot do, I s’pose. I really can’t. Sorry, Mads.”

Madelaine, picking at her beaded necklace, sighed. And then laughed good humouredly. Stubbing out her cigarette in a rather tired looking lime wedge. Then took a long sip at her coffee, eyeing Alfred with inconspicuous eyes over the top.

“That’s my brother.” She said, once she had put the empty cup down. “Always the gent. First, he doesn’t shoot the fella, then he doesn’t name the fella he doesn’t shoot. Real morals.”

“Hm. Well, when you say it that way…”

“Exactly. So you might as well-“

“You sound absolutely right. I am a gentleman. So you’ll stop pursuing it. Won’t ya?”

She laughed loudly, and then sat back sloppily in her chair, peering round the small, French café. It was relatively empty, bar an old man and woman dressed in clothes out-dated by at least 30 years, and looking nonetheless younger for it. She watched them go about their cups and plates shakily, whilst Alfred worked on dissecting his sandwich, pulling every slice of cucumber out of it and stacking them up on the rim of his plate like dead men. She bit her lip, taking her attention away from the other occupants, thinking. Only then did the music seem to drift over, like a sleepless dream. 

“I like this song… think it’s called “Sleep”* isn’t it?” Alfred said, absentmindedly.

“I don’t know. I don’t listen to music...Uhm… They still give you trouble, then? Cucumbers?” She asked, peppering down a different question now stuck in her throat by picking up some of the discarded cucumber and eating it.

“Oh. Whole load. Can’t do my job with’em, even.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Think it’s called indigestion. Something like that.”

“And,” She began, swallowing heavily. “Your job? How’s that?”

“Windows? Or… the-“

“Windows.” She interrupted, quickly. 

“Windows. Yeah. Yeah, I’m done up working where you work, right now. But I got odd jobs around. One of them’s a punter, funnily enough.”

“Don’t… I’d rather you not bring that up.”

He cleared his throat. She wasn’t looking at him now. But could hear his fingers tapping off-beat on the table top.

“Sorry…”

“So Uhm… Oh Uhm… so this fella. Last night. What do you plan to do about him now?”

Alfred seemed to jump at this change in conversation, but only briefly, then he faltered. Suddenly lack-lustered and distant.

“Oh I… why, I don’t all know. But… but I’ll definitely have to find him. I feel awful, about what I said. Didn’t mean not a word of it. Really didn’t. And I said some real bad things.”

“Oh, but Alfred, he probably did deserve it. He paid you after all, I’m sure he would have just been like the rest of them.” 

“No.” He said, it exploded quickly, like a bullet. “No. He wasn’t. I’ll put my good window-cleaning dollar on that. He was a nice old thing, for what he was. Was always… nice. Just lonely.”

“They’re all lonely. Lonely old perverts.”

“Maybe. Maybe… but do you know what he told me? Last night, do you know what he said? While he was standing there, pistol out, bleeding, crying, I don’t know what else. Dying, looked like. Know what he said to me?”

“What did he say?”

“Said he’d been looking for me, to tell me he loved me. Past midnight this was. Loved me, he said.”

She shook her head, partly from some selfish gossiping part of herself feeling disappointed. “They all say that, surely. Perverts.”

“No. Well, I suppose, but that’s after I’ve just got in their bed for them.”

“Alfred!” she glanced over at the old couple, but they couldn’t be less interested. The lady had out a housekeeping magazine of some sort, and the man was spread out behind a broadsheet newspaper. Alfred continued, unfazed.

“But him… he come looking for me, because he thought he upset me, and he wanted to tell me he loved me. That’s what he said. And I believe him.” 

“Well, I think you’re silly.” She finally answered, after assuring herself that no one was listening in. “Very silly. A man like that only wants a pretty young boy to dote after him. He has everything already, so he needs to have somebody else’s everything too. I don’t like it, Alfred.

“Well. I loved him too.” He stated, then lifted his chin up defiantly. She shushed him quickly. 

“You’re saying that to upset me.”

“I’m not. I loved him. I still love him now. And I’ll have to put things right.”

“If you mean that…” she took a moment, obviously uncomfortable with her words. “If you mean that, then why did you steal from him in the first place?”

“I told ya. I told you, I only did it to help him.”

She laughed, not bothering to cover up her amusement. 

“Oh, you did? You hardly knew him.”

“It makes sense when you hear why.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Well… well, the thing I took from him was only making him sick.”

“What?”

“What I’m saying, is it’s best if he had less of it. So I took it. Didn’t plan on selling it like I did. Not at first. I was only doing it to help him. But then… well…”

“The opportunity arose, and you took it, like you always do.” She finished for him flatly. 

“Exactly. You’re definitely my sister, Mads.”

“Don’t remind me. You always get yourself into things like this, Alfred. For goodness sake.”

“I loved him.” He said, in an airy way as though it explained it all.

“Then why did you say all those things last night?”

Alfred thought for a moment, taking a bite of his sandwich and swallowing. When he spoke, he did it with a shrug, “Scared of losing him. He was the first nice one.”

She smiled, softly. “You’re a whacky one, Alfred. Must be all those fallings you’ve done from Windows.”

“So yes… Uhm,” he nodded quickly, and shuffled around on his chair, as though wriggling out of the old conversation and restarting anew. “So yes… my job’s doing alright. Errr… what about you? Actually, actually why are you off work today, then? It’s hours. Surely you should be-“

“You didn’t hear?”

“Uhm… What’s that?”

“Oh… Oh, it’s terrible Alfred.” She said, restrain in her voice. “So terrible. It was all over the papers. Surely you would have seen? I know you only read the cartoons, but you must have seen. All over them.”

“What? Was there a fire? That’s terrible, the Ritz is-“

“No. No, something much… something I think is much worse.”

“What a… well a…”

“Oh see, if only you read the papers. Then I wouldn’t have to say it.”

“Go on.”

“A suicide.”

“A suicide?!”

“A suicide.” 

“Oh dear,” They took a mutual silent moment between them, out of an unspoken respect. “Oh dear. Who? How?”

“A rich fella. Poor man. Worst thing is, I helped him up to his room last night too. Oh, well there wasn’t a rash thing about him then, he seemed as bright as a birdie.”

Alfred frowned. “Room?”

“Pardon?”

“Room number?”

“Why should you want to know that? Thinking of ogling at the mess?”

“Just, tell me it, please.”

“Alfred, you’ll upset yourself. You know how sensitive-“

“What’s the number, Mads?”

“1B.” She played with her old cigarette stub worryingly. “Alfred. Alfred what’s that face for? What’s the number got to do with anything? You won’t see anything there, so if you’re worried about that, don’t be. Won’t see a body at least. They said… they told us that the fella cut himself up, with glass shards -found wine bottles all over- Then he stumbled out the window. That’s probably what killed him in the end. And you know how the police are, they had him cleared up in seconds so as to not frighten the public. Don’t worry yourself.”

The old couple was moving now, so bustling and jovially that when they brushed past Alfreds table, they almost knocked him off his chair. He didn’t respond, didn’t even blink.

“Pardon me there, boy.” The elderly man apologised, and then repeated less casually when Alfred made no response. 

“Excuse him. He’s just heard some shocking news. He’s a sensitive boy, and the whole Ritz shebang has hit him hard, I suppose.” Madeline said, feigning a smile.

“Oh de-e-e-e-e-ar! We were just talking about that. Just talking about how terrible it was. Weren’t we, Bill?” The woman blurted, nudging her husband with a silk covered elbow.

“Well, we were just. True is that, Mary.”

“Saw it in the papers!” Mary added on, cheerfully. 

“True is that. I opened up, and it was the first thing I saw. Bad they put it in the morning paper. Almost made me lose my appetite for breakfast.”

“Oh, but they didn’t give much detail. I’m sure it was traumatic for those there.”

“I’m sure it was too, Mary. He left a hell of a mess, apparently. Blood, everywhere.”

“Oh no-o-o-o! Not in the Ritz? I bet that lovely room’s ruined now! That gorgeous French bed!”

“I bet. Sliced himself up some more when he fell out that window too, apparently. Paper said it looks like stained red glass now.”

“Oh, did they Bill? On that lovely authentic glass?”

“True as it sounds. Terrible.”

“Oh… what a shame. What a mess.”

“A mess indeed. Got to say, poor guy. But in the end, I feel bad for whoever cleans the windows!” 

They walked off, arm in arm, laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.* _Cake-eater -_ a slang term for a ladies-man or a homosexual, the definition was a little loose apparently, but you can probably take a guess at what meaning I’m going for
> 
> 2.* _Egg_ \- a term for a rich person
> 
> 3.* _Mauritania -_ A transatlantic passenger ship that would have been travelling from New York harbour to Portsmouth harbour during the time this fic is set
> 
> 4\. * _’Sleep’ -_ I’m talking about the 1923 song ‘Sleep’ by Fred Waring's Pennsylvanians, it was a hit song in 1924 (and damn is it a goodun)
> 
>  
> 
> hiyaaa and welcome to my first attempt at a oneshot, this one was written about a month and a bit to go, and I can't wait to try out some more c;
> 
> This fic was made for the UsUkUs twice per year collection, and I really recommend you go and check it out if you haven't already -- there are some amazing fics there, and I can't wait to have a look through them all c:
> 
> As always, thank you literally so much for reading, and if you can leave a review then I'd appreciate that legit so much <3


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